


Behavior

by orphan_account



Series: unrelated tumblr shorts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Android AU, Just a drabble, M/M, because i love AI!AUs, possibly to be fleshed out later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Secretive programmer and intelligence contractor Mycroft Holmes designs two humanoid artificial intelligence agents for the government from his secluded, countryside home. But instead of managing to finish testing them the week before they are to be deployed, they test him—to his limits.





	Behavior

J167171 comes over to watch over his shoulder as he works. This chassis is a lot larger; meant to be more self-sufficient model with self-charging abilities and more storage. 5336110K. Both are meant to aid the intelligence efforts.

Their model IDs are tedious. He calls J167171 Jim. The android had picked out the name James after Mycroft suggested he name himself. (“It should start with J,” he said as he downloaded book of baby names. “I like James. The King. He wrote the Bible, didn’t he?”)

Jim runs a finger down the new android’s arm, careful not to damage any of the exposed chips.

“When will it be done?” Jim asks, curious.

“‘He,’” Mycroft corrects. Jim purses his lips and almost looks petulant. In these moments Mycroft remembers he’s only been online less than a week. He’s proved a smashing success.

.

Jim stares unblinking as 5336110K comes online. The first few seconds are eerie, the android’s eyes a harsh light, his limbs stiff, as it boots up.

“Was I like that?” Jim whispers to Mycroft. He shushes Jim and scoots his stool just a bit closer to new one.

The android's eyes close, and in a deep baritone he asks how he should address Mycroft. Mycroft gives him his full name, and adds that he’d prefer to be addressed by his given name.

Then Mycroft requests he chooses a name for himself as well. When he opens his eyes again they’re a light blue with hints of green.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” he says. “I look forward to working with you.”

.

Sherlock learns so fast that Mycroft would be enthralled by his voracity for knowledge if he didn’t have a constant reminder he programmed Sherlock exactly this way. He programmed the both of them as such, and gave them full access to their own development; educational, emotional, et cetera. Sherlock a little less than Jim, perhaps, because the powers that be, his mysterious masters, have suggested quite strongly that they would like their agents under more control.

He tests the two constantly, and while they are happy to report to him they seem oddly prickly toward each other.

He’s got to get them over that before they go into the field next week, Mycroft thinks.

“Why did you take the name ‘Holmes’?” Mycroft asks on the third day.

Sherlock hesitates and Mycroft wonders whether he’s perfected lying yet.

“It is a family name, is it not?” Sherlock responds cryptically. “I ought to have one. I thought it fitting to adopt yours.”

.

Jim is unhappy.

Is it sibling rivalry? Mycroft wonders wryly. The prickliness has intensified to downright antagonism, and the two have stopped running the thousands of chess, go, and other games they had set up to play against each other.

The door slams ans Mycroft turns around to see Jim staring at the wall angrily, hand still on the door.

“You spend more time with him than you do with me,” he says. Mycroft will never get over that voice. He picked it out an hour after he chose the name.

“Why?” Jim asks. He’s angry, and Mycroft is surprised to hear it.

He’s not quite sure how to explain this, and perhaps it shows. “His setup requires a bit more care than yours,” Mycroft says.

Now Jim looks hurt. Again, unexpected. He storms off.

.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a gasp. It’s not his.

There’s a weight on the side of his bed and he turns to see blue-green eyes glowing in the dark. Sherlock has a layer of condensation over his temples, his eyes are not glowing by choice, and the intricate node-work in his chest is exposed.

He looks up to see Jim standing over the other paralyzed android, his own sleeves pushed up and panels peeled back.

“Help me understand,” he says, and he sounds utterly heartbroken.

Mycroft has never felt such cold terror.


End file.
